


Beginnings

by Phantom_art



Category: Political RPF - Russian 21st c.
Genre: Angst, Crying, Death, Emotional Manipulation, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:14:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23407393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phantom_art/pseuds/Phantom_art
Summary: The reality of a person appears when he already gets what he wants. Dmitry Anatolievich learns from that in a different way
Relationships: Dmitry Medvedev/Vladimir Putin
Comments: 15
Kudos: 16





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I just hope you enjoy

Being forty years old and starting to be the first prime minister of a nation that is just getting started is difficult. You're too young for politics, you don't know what steps to take or what decisions will be the right ones. 

Dmitry Medvedev was, exceptionally, a man with the guts of glass. A little shy for others, projecting a false sense of self-confidence while inside he is afraid of the people in his path. He is faithful as a dog, has a loyalty to his boss that exceeds all standards. Still, he feels different. 

And now that he's in his office, in the big prime minister's office, he's wondering how he should go on his way. To be in 2005 almost five years after the new century is difficult, there are new conflicts, new technologies, new enemies attacking the nation that little by little is rising. 

But, he likes his office. He has an elegant style that in his years as a law professor he never had.

He was delighted with his new stay, enjoying its comfort and warmth that he could not notice the crisp door that opened in a soft but firm step. 

"I hope you feel good." 

His body was jumping, he wasn't ready. He smiles shyly at the president's arrival, with a wine and two glasses, quite nice. 

"Thank you very much." He says, pointing to a seat in front of him. "I have ideas that might..." 

"This is no time to think." The glass is put on the desk. "We must celebrate, Prime Minister." 

He nods, a bit uncomfortable. Vladimir Vladimirovich's visits used to provoke a different feeling, some respect in between. 

"Since when do you celebrate?" he asked, smiling. "I thought I'd start working." 

"You will." His body gets up, reaching out to him. "Can't I celebrate with you?" 

He nods, feeling uncomfortable because of the proximity. Things have happened over the years that he was with the president, well, with Vladimir Vladimirovich.

Your body can remember those moments, as a foreign affairs legal advisor alone, remembering the strange moments with the man only makes your blood boil.

"I just thought it would work,"

He poured the maroon liquid into the glasses, watching it spread across the glass staining the transparency to have a dark yet light touch, a good contrast. You should learn about wine over time. 

"I'll pass it off as your first day." He took the glass in his hands, raising it. "For Russia and her greatness."

He raises his glass, smiling. The sight of a new life appearing in great proportions. 

"for russia and her greatness." 

He drank, feeling the taste of the grape so potent, the alcohol running down his throat as it caused him to relax. 

He smiled, looking into the eyes of the ambitious man, with the most interesting mysteries behind his stoic and powerful body.

He did not know at what moment he was assaulted, he was only aware when the flavors mixed and the opposite tongue forced its way into the mouth of another. 

His free hand rises to the new president's shoulder, clutching his clothes as he leaves the glass on his desk. It's a quick dance, he can't get used to a kiss so fast, so wild. 

He shouted at him as the opposing hands touched his ass, looking at him with regret. 

"I'm sorry, I just got scared." He took the president's glass, put it down. "This didn't happen to me." 

He's breathing, calming down. Looking for some emotion in the man. 

"We'll be close enough together." His hands surrounded the Primer minister waist. "So you can get used to it." 

"I thought." He babbles, looking at the blue eyes. "We'd work." 

He complains when his hip hits the desk, moving in pain as it comes up. 

"we'll do it." He kissed her neck, biting. "Wouldn't you like to open your office."

This became normal, pleasing Vladimir Vladimirovich became essential to his being, since 1991 when he started working as a foreign affairs legal advisor he knew that the man would generate something so strange, demanding every single thing he would accomplish until his body vanished. 

"Now?." he smiled at his own naivety. "I have to see sveta." 

"So late?." She put her hand down on her thigh, caressing. "She must be tired, we must do this, Dmitry Anatolievich." 

It was difficult to meet the president's needs, to be there for his nights when he needed some more intimate time. 

He sighs, closing his eyes. Enjoying the moment, he was a gentle person, touching his body gently to feel the pleasures. 

"The difference." He hit his leg, smiling. "You'll learn what a pleasure pain is, Prime Minister." 

He clung to the edges, holding back a groan as his hands slipped into his pants. Poking furiously as he touches his limb which becomes harder with every touch. Touching his buttocks while a finger probes inside. His trousers fall to the ground, his temples throb as the finger enters with more force, reaching the end point of his interior. 

"I've been waiting for this for a long time." He said, pulling out his finger. "Turn around, I want to see my painting while I take you."

Surprised by the man's narcissism, he turns around, removing the pants that rest on his ankles. He looks at Vladimir Vladimirovich's painting, waiting. 

"It's your new work, Dmitry Anatolievich." He said, the sound of the zipper appears. "You're going to please me, any minute now." 

He closes his eyes, the limb going into him hard. He held back his scream, biting his lower lip as he moved uncomfortably. The president doesn't stop, he continues his assault by violently beating his inner self. 

"You will learn to obey every command." He hits his right buttock, smiling. "You hesitate and are out."

He lets out a moan, crumpling up the leaves on her desk. He feels faint, with his member inside him penetrating strongly. 

"Got it?" 

He nods, complaining when his hair is pulled by the president's hand. 

"I said, do you understand?" 

He babbles, opening his eyes. 

"Yes." He said, grimacing. "Yes." 

"If what?."

He feels the tear inside him, searching for the words. His limb becomes hard, missed by his sullen and violent attitude. 

That was not the Vladimir Vladimirovich he had known. 

"Yes, sir."

"Good boy." 

He bit into the desk, the mahogany edge feeling the varnish on his palate. 

The man he remembered was not like that, he was attentive and funny, humble in every way. Kind, he was not a bit of a man who charged his body with vigour. 

"Please." he said, closing his eyes. "Oh, no." 

"Say my name." His hands went around the prime minister's neck, exerting pressure. "Pet." 

He exhaled, looking for air while stuttering the president's name. 

"Say it properly." 

He shouted, a muffled sound. Vladimir Vladimirovich's member punishes him, pounding his insides, tearing them apart more than they already were. 

"vladimir." he gasps, closing his eyes. "vladimir." 

The sound of the door stops the onslaught, the hands on his neck disappear. 

**"Mr. Medvedev, Mr. Dvorkovich is coming on your visit."**

The speaker's voice resonates, causing a tense change. 

"Get dressed, quickly." 

He's complaining, watching some drops of blood fall to the ground.

He felt sick, humiliated. 

"We'll finish this." He kissed her cheek, biting her. "When you return."

"Why are you like this?" he asked, tucking in his pants. "I thought what..."

The man's cold hand touches his cheek, coming down in a rough caress. 

"What do you think? Will it all be roses?" He pressed Adam's apple, looking at him. "I'll use your body, dima. I don't care about your life. I don't care about you." 

Then he knew from that moment that one more pawn was added to Vladimir Vladimirovich's chessboard. 

"Lyudmila, sveta." he said, buckling his belt. "What about them." 

The cup he had set aside rises, with a mocking smile. 

"Nothing, they're annoying." He takes a sip, walking to the door. "Cheers, Dmitry Anatolievich."

He awaits the arrival of Arkady, an interesting boy. Thirty-two years full of vigor but a seriousness that is worthy of him. Pleasant in his way of being. 

"Dmitry Anatolievich, congratulations." 

"Thank you Arkady Dvorkovich."

What a good day starting out as prime minister, he thought. 

The next day he woke up with more encouragement, his wife helped him prepare his tie while the little Ilya ate breakfast. 

They are his pride, the way he makes his chest swell so he can confess that they are his happiness. 

He was ready with his new ideas, he would raise Russia with his own hands if necessary. 

"You're late." 

He sighed, listening to the president's hissing behind his back. 

"I'm sorry, it was only five minutes." he lowered his head, turning around.

First day officially and I was already late, I should cut back on he sleep. 

"You think this is a joke?." 

He denied it, blaming himself. 

The nice man who was once there left, letting a manipulative man look into his eyes. 

"Well, we'll go see the papers on foreign policy." 

Then, the memory of the man with the white, chubby hair appeared. 

"shouldn't he go with boris nikolayevich?."

Vladimir, who had started to walk, stopped, looking uncomfortably in his direction. 

"I don't care about that old man." He grimaced, walking to him. "He'll be dead for years to come." 

"But." he stammered, surprised. "It's Boris, he was so happy to see you from his..."

A slap hit his cheek, stunned him. 

"Listen." His hand holds his tie." boris doesn't matter anymore, I'm president, your company is no longer necessary." 

He nods, hurt in his mind by the old man who would wait in excitement for his predecessor's arrival. 

It was a pity to know that he would not arrive. 

So why did he feel so bad, he was upset by Vladimir's attitude, by his selfish way of thinking. How he could manipulate the poor old man to achieve his dirty goal. 

He wanted to give up, his honor and heart of a hero shouting that this is not the best way to be near a man who only thought of his own good. 

But, that's not what everyone thinks.

"Are you still thinking about that old man?." 

Vladimir's voice took him out of his mind, nodding. 

"It's a pity you can't attend." He said, sighing. "I'm looking forward to it." 

He heard the snorting, looking at him in annoyance. 

"Many things don't happen, Dmitry Anatolievich." His steps were strong, powerful. "People are disappointed." 

"But you just have to see him." he begged, with his crystal-clear eyes. "I beg you, he'll be hurt if you don't go." 

First lesson about Vladimir Vladimirovich is, don't trust him. He could kill you just to get his way. 

"Do you see in my face that it matters?" he asked, expressionless. "It doesn't matter, we don't need it." 

"I'm asking you, please!"

His breath became heavy, he was angry at the way he treated the poor man. 

"Don't you understand?" 

They came to the end of the corridor, where a door is in front of them. 

"Please." 

He stopped his hand, looking at it with remarkable sadness, searching the president's heart some goodness that might be hidden. 

"What did I tell you?." His hand is raised, ready to reach the opposite cheek. "If you question my decisions, you're out." 

He moves his face, to take the hit. He nods, with a pain in his chest. 

"Well, come in." 

He opens the door, looking at the men cutting in front of him. They have a mocking, malignant smile, like a wolf in sheep's clothing. The difference is that they're not covered with anything, they just hide their evil with their soft eyes. 

Where did he go, he thought that politics would be different, more exciting, but it seems to be something related to the American movie mafia.

"This one." Vladimir began by pointing it out. "This is Dmitry Anatolievich, our Prime Minister." 

He swallowed his saliva, lowering his head in a short bow. 

"My pet." 

He looks at Vladimir in amazement, with a blush on his cheeks. 

The men in the cut-off cheer, applauding as they watch him with hatred.

"Take a seat." 

He walks, every step observed by the men to see his mistake, his sweat covers his forehead, his hands get soaked and his shirt sticks against his back. He sits, with a man next to him with a wart or mole, he didn't have time to analyze, near his cheekbone. 

She listened to the president's words, none of which matched her new personality. She speaks of goodness while her being is completely tainted, a clear hypocrisy for one who can see beyond the charming figure of Vladimir Vladimirovich. 

Maybe that's what made the Russian people fall in love, his kind but firm attitude in his actions. In his determination that arises near his peculiar walk, with his hand near his body while the other takes his freedom with a slight but not noticeable limp. 

He blushed as he looked at the man very much. 

**_"Don't worry kid, it's normal."_ **

Those were vladimir's words when it was his first time, when he was so scared that he practically broke down in tears.

He denied, taking the pen in front of him, he shouldn't think about things outside of work while the president is talking, much less about the attractiveness of the job. 

He runs it over his fingers, looking for the answers to his life in something as simple as a pen with dark details. 

Yawn, pinching his cheek as he tries to stay awake. His morning energy is gone and he just wants to sleep as he hears the rain fall, hitting the roof in a symphonic moment. How nice that would be. 

The memory of yelstin grieves him, the man did not deserve such contempt, he should not be forgotten. Not by someone who assumed because of him. 

He smiled as he struck vladimir vladimirovich in his mind for his selfishness. 

He moved his feet, counting the minutes when his mood declined, with strength along with his self-love and ego. 

The sadness invades her body, at a time that was not the best. The idea of seeing the yelstin, sitting on one of his chairs looking out the window at the arrival of the president as he excitedly says _"he'll be here"_ , counting the cars that pass by and the birds that perch in the trees. 

He would skip the dinner waiting, looking without losing the illusions that at some point the dark limousine would arrive on his property with the logo of the Russian Federation so that the body of Vladimir Vladimirovich could leave. 

With the hunger in his stomach he would wait, patient, playing his feet while covering his mouth when the instinct of tozer appears in his throat. 

He was sick, he had no time. 

Then the evening hours would come, announcing that the president had decided not to visit the man standing at the window, disappointed. You can see a tear running down his cheek as he gets up with the help of his wife, without looking away from the window, waiting for the arrival that never came. 

He covered his eyes, holding back the tears that are coming just by imagining such a scenario. It was depressing but so real at the same time.

Boris Yelstin's eyes, clear, staring at the ceiling as he wondered why his predecessor had not arrived. 

You shouldn't imagine that, it wasn't good for his weak bear heart. 

But, the image remained, punishing him. 

Then, the sight of yelstin getting up in the early morning, walking to the window that hours ago was so tight. He would let some tears escape, looking at the starry sky in which millions of stars light up the sky, along with the full moon that absorbs every emotion the old man wants to convey. 

I should call yelstin, some excuse that the president couldn't attend. 

That wouldn't be enough, it would leave a bigger pain in the plump man. 

He looks around at the officials with enough eyes while they follow the same pattern. A kind of puppet multiplied. 

He smiles, looking at the papers lying in front of him. 

He must remember that he is also a puppet, only different from the men around him.

It is more like a doll, lifeless, waiting patiently with its button eyes to be torn apart by its owner. 

He must watch over the pleasures of the president, seeking every thing that can bring peace to the selfish man at his side. 

But, he is willing to give everything for peace to its owner. 

He represses a jump when a naughty hand crosses his leg, going up to his inner thigh to massage his crotch. 

He shouldn't be doing this. 

Look at Vladimir, looking for an answer to the action he's doing. He hides his face with his hands when he presses, hardening his limb. 

Why is he the doll, he asks, losing himself in the pleasure of the man's soft but firm hands. 

He lowers his hand, removing the arm of vladimir. This was not the time to satisfy his carnal needs. 

She regretted seeing the man's annoyed face, her eyes staring at him in warning. 

What has he gotten himself into?


	2. Yeltsin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think it's been a long time since I've updated but here's T^T

A coffin is positioned in front of it, in a varnished brown colour that is pleasing to the eye. He looks around him, familiar people are crying, Arkady holds a handkerchief, his sad gaze covering it with the handkerchief.

The wind covers his body, shaking at the touch of ice. A sensation of looking into the coffin terrifies him, his steps begin and in just a few seconds his eyes focus on the dead man... He was Boris Nikolayevich, with his whitish hair and dark circles under his eyes. The annoyed face does not go unnoticed.

He wants to get closer, his body shrinks, his face moves closer to look at the deeper details. The face begins to change, it thins in an inhuman way to give shape to someone unknown with a horrible beard and messy hair. His confusion does not go unnoticed until his eyes open, revealing dark eyes full of anger, sadness and disappointment that look in his direction.

He cannot scream, the hands that were still take him, drag him; he cannot speak, he cannot move and his eyes reveal the terror when he is now inside the coffin, looking into the darkness until he hears a sound that he cannot distinguish...

Then wake up.

He's in his office, nothing's happened and he's safe. Her heart is pounding, quickly in her fear that crosses her body. He turns around, watching the landscape of her country awaken, the idea of a new day or perhaps the end of it. 

His mind spins, his eyes look at the nation that is beginning to be built and at the people anxious for a good future, for something solid so that they can look with pride and exclaim with an imposing voice the legacy of the country that has risen.

But what were they doing?, Vladimir Vladimirovich quickly became the patriarch, the corrupt vigilante who began to enrich himself with the poverty of the nation that had spoken for so long. The iron hand that everyone demanded, the one that he criticized and converted. 

He is still Dmitry Anatolyevich, the doll who has to satisfy every corner of the man who demands behind the beautiful desk carved of Soviet and Russian tears in order to have freedom for future generations. But, they have fallen to another tyranny and he is an accomplice, a silent man who watches as his country will be torn apart and return to the rubbish he tried so hard to get out.

"Boris..."

He didn't deserve that, the old man shouldn't be treated that way. Boris Nikolayevich was always someone who cared about his nation, who tried to improve the lives of Russian citizens until he could only make small but significant changes. 

_"I am sorry that many of our dreams have not come true." Boris spoke, moving his hands slowly, sadness governing his voice." That things we thought would be easy turned out to be painfully difficult."_

_The people listen attentively to the words of the man with the fat face, looking into the sad and disappointed eyes. It was a sad new year, a year that many people would remember with a pain in their chest._

_He himself saw Boris breaking down, his heart pressing with a pain he did not know._

_"I felt in my heart the pain of each of you."_

_Boris looks at the camera, completely surrendered to the idea that his idea of a good country was shattered._

_"A new generation is coming, which will be able to do more and do it better."_

The pen rolls across the desk, falling onto the dark carpet, muffling the sound. Tears start to flow, their emotions coming out in treacherous salt drops. 

The door opens, the patriarch enters with his haughty walk. The quick entry gives no time to hide his weakness, his tears fall to wet some documents.

"Are you crying?." the tone is annoying, contemptuous." Be a man and wipe those filthy tears away."

His face is moist, his eyes are red and his hands tremble with helplessness. What should he do? Only his mind can generate images of the gray-haired, plump-looking man.

"Boris Nikolayevich," he said, his throat is contracting." He called and asked to speak to you."

"You said he was busy." His footsteps approach him, standing next to him." I don't need any distractions." 

The proximity causes his heart to beat faster, the blood flows furiously in the young prime minister's veins. 

"You must only heed his call." His voice becomes delicate, fearful." It won't take long."

His body jumps in fear, vladimir hits the desk, his hands go to the armrest of his seat to turn it towards the president. 

"You won't talk about it anymore." His hand holds both cheeks." Boris Nikolayevich is dead."

Why does he have to cry?, his eyes crystallize and the grip on his cheeks intensifies. Vladimir seems upset, angry. 

"You're going to stop crying, understand?" 

He trembles when something sharp touches his abdomen, rising up to touch his warm skin. The sharp blade touches his cheekbone, caressing the skin. 

"I don't want to have to take out those pretty eyes." Her pupils dilate in desire. Or does it?"

He babbles, his eyes close in deep fear, his body shudders when the metal presses on the skin. 

"N-no sir, it won't happen again." The blade comes out of his skin, relieving his breathing." I promise."

"Now take off those pants, I want to fuck you."

The weight vanishes, the buckle starts to ring and his belt breaks, his pants fall down along with his underwear. His doll's eyes look at her owner, waiting for the president's actions with her sapphire eyes looking directly at him.

"Turn around and open your ass." 

The chair creaks from the sudden change, his knees stay apart and her hands spread his buttocks revealing her hole. The tip brushes against his entrance, feeling the pressure behind it.

"Can it be slow?." he asked, doubtful." I-I'm not ready."

"Did I ever care about that?."

He closed his eyes, the limb enters mercilessly into him. He holds back his screams by biting his lip, the wound inside him gets bigger.

He must remember that his function is only to satisfy the man who charges at him. 

He thinks of nothing, his mind is empty when these moments occur. He tries to minimize the pain, looking at the details on the wall, observing the pictures, but the limb goes on, giving no respite to the body that receives the attacks. 

His hands never left his ass. His throat closes with a muffled scream, vladimir's hand rests in his mouth, muffling the moans and cries that come out of it, he feels he can vent, raising the tones that begin to become heartbreaking for a person who has never faced evil.

He did not know at what moment the man ended, nor did he know the moment when the tears fell down his cheek to the president's fingers. The semen runs down his legs, the blood is camouflaged and his mind is distorted for a moment.

He was afraid of her eyes.

"You deserve this," he said, the belt closing along with the zipper. Always remember that everything is your fault." 

The image of a used doll describes her body, the bruises adorning her legs. When the door closes he moves, crying silently when the white but stained legs don't react to his commands. With effort, the pants are put on, the belt is fixed and it is clean. 

It was a torturous way to get to the bathroom, outrageous and humiliating that makes his mind say despicable things to his own being. The mirror reflects his body, his swollen face and his red, burning eyes that make him close his gaze slightly. You can feel in his neck the mark of fingers, the force with which vladimir clings to his body overwhelms him, the hate in every grip.

He opens the tap, the water running makes a relaxing sound. He takes a little between his hands, wiping his face. He must be ready.

The most humiliating part, cleaning his body. He cut a piece of paper, leaving it wet as he ran it down his legs, the itch in his eyes returning as he looked up, preventing the tears from coming down. He took a breath, separated his buttock and began to clean his hole, sobbing from the pain of rubbing each part of his body. 

When he was ready, he threw himself on the desk, hiding his face and much of his head in his arms, crying inconsolably. The image of his wife appears, svetlana would be looking at him with contempt if she knew of such an act that he does. 

But how can he blame Vladimir Vladimirovich, his heart betrays him when his feelings for the man flourish with every move. He knew about the crude attitude, the aggressive way the president used to interact. Was he to blame? Is his fate a karma for cheating on his wife? The leaves on the trees turn to snow, people start running around enjoying the wonders of nature.

He was in love, it wasn't his plan to give up everything for a man. His insides hurt, his chest shrinks in his own bitterness when he gets up. The footsteps are soft, follows the rhythm imposed by her mind when he walks, looking out the windows at the landscape of a beautiful day. 

Of course he was to blame, he shouldn't have been in love with a man. But Vladimir Vladimirovich had accepted. His body remembers those visits to his office, when they sweetly gave themselves to the moonlight that bathed their united souls.

White hair, a tall shadow walks the corridors of the Kremlin. His mind quickens when the gaze of Boris Nikolayevich crosses with his. How should he explain what was happening to Vladimir Vladimirovich?.

"Dmitry Anatolyevich?" The voice is deep, raspy.

He nodded, shaking hands with the melancholy looking man. He noticed the disappointment in his gaze, the way his shoulders fell into sadness.

"Do you need anything?" he asked, pointing to an empty hallway. 

They were both walking, talking about their lives and the beautiful things that were happening at the time. 

"Why hasn't Vladimir Vladimirovich accepted my calls?" His steps are slow looking at him.

The moment came, his eyes closed biting his lip. How could he find an excuse?. 

"Vova..." he cursed quietly, nervously." Vladimir Vladimirovich was busy. 

"Busy?" A laugh covers his lips." I see a gleam in your eyes when you name it."

Curse the blush, walking beside the tallest man. Boris builds trust, an attitude where lying was never in his plans. 

"I see that now my situation doesn't matter." The hand hits his shoulder amicably." Do you love him?" 

He stopped his walk, fixing his tie by revealing his skin for a few minutes. 

"He's my friend." he let go, resuming his walk." A great friend."

"Can you tell me the truth?"

A tickle in his chest overwhelms him, a feeling that something might happen at that moment puzzles him. The truth always comes out, it's a great saying that, not commonly applied to a short period. 

"I love him," he said, softly." I appreciate it very much." 

"And he..." they stop at a window, looking at the landscape." Does he have the same feelings?"

Snow falling on the windows, cold fogging the glass. His eyes take in a couple, remembering his first meeting with the man in a smile.

"I don't really know." His shoulders are raised. " Vladimir has feelings differently." 

"He shouldn't hit you."

Shame covers his body, laughing slightly to calm the tense atmosphere that would start to form. 

"I saw your blows, the mark of your fingers." He pointed to his neck, crossing his arms." It's not good."

"He... he doesn't." He stammers, avoiding babbling." He's just passionate about it."

A memory crosses his mind, when the first blows during sex appear. At first he didn't rule out his fear, his body opposed the blows but in time, normality came and he did nothing to avoid those things that rose up in his face. 

"He's a violent boy, that's the word." A moan comes from his lips, annoying." You mustn't allow that."

"He usually hits me but." he sighs, just like a lover." He apologizes, it's not his fault."

He can't deny vladimir's attention, when his first days for capturing the attention of the man with mysterious eyes. When he used to accompany him for long hours of the night, watching him sort out the mayor's documents. 

"Of course it is!." Altered, he hit the wall." He's a bad man, my boy, he's going to get worse."

"Vova needs someone." he said, his forehead touching the cold window." He's going to change like before. 

An inner part, inside him, screams with fury the truth that change is a lie that could never happen. He feels more guilty, with a physical pain that reminds him of his reality.

"Boy, you shouldn't be fooled." His voice calms down, taking over." You shouldn't lie to yourself that people like him would change."

His forehead cools, having a sad feeling in him that takes over his throat. 

"Vova wouldn't hurt me." He speaks uncertainly, looking ahead." I think he loves me."

"Love..." Boris carries his hand to the opposite back, clapping it gently." To love is to protect and care for the welfare of your loved one."

The image of vladimir, he just had to see that he was a little bit wrong and he would see the reality. He has a mind with a clear goal, the satisfaction of his owner. 

"He just needs to be loved," he said, pulling away from the glass. Someone must look after him."

"It's not your duty to do so." The look is sad, disappointed with that touch of nostalgia." You mustn't suffer for that."

_Suffering... It's a difficult word, something you can't really explain because it depends on your reality, how you can say you are suffering, you still don't see the worst pains, you haven't enjoyed the sufferings of life yet._

"I want to do it, I won't abandon him." he is determined, his chest swells determined." It's my word and my commitment."

"What if he falls."

_And if he falls..._

What if he falls? What if he can't take Vladimir's hand to hold him? 

"Someone must lift him up." His voice is firm, with a smile. I'll do my best to keep him from falling."

Boris seems surprised, his eyes have a little glow of happiness that seemed to be extinguished. 

"I hope you can." He took a deep breath, coughing. "I really hope so."

They begin to walk in a comfortable, comforting silence that they feel they haven't had in a long time. It doesn't take long to get to their office, the imposing dark oak doors stand in front of them. You can see the lock disappearing, opening smoothly.

"I thought I'd secured the office," he says, engrossed in the interior of the office." You can be comfortable Boris Nikolayevich."

Then the door slams shut, scaring him away from the sound. Vladimir is standing in front of him, his expressionless stare now disappointing with great annoyance. 

"What do I have to do to make you understand..." the patriarch walks, pushing the white-haired man." Are you challenging me? Do you want a punishment?."

"N-no, Volodya I not challenge you." He babbles, walking away from the man." B-boris... I-I found him is all."

He suppresses a scream as his fingers reach out to his neck, pressing his throat hard.

"Let the boy go!" he shouted, his body moving sharply." It's not his fault."

What a big mistake...

He watches in horror as Vladimir approaches the former president, pushing him hard enough to bring him to the ground. 

"You're old." he said, gently raising his leg, dropping his foot on the man's chest." A lucky alcoholic."

"M-my h-heart."

His mind begins to race, walking quickly as he pushes the president away, touching Boris' chest. 

"Boris Nikolayevich resists!" he said, pressing his chest." J-Just breathe!"

Boris' eyes begin to close in pain, his body shudders and twists constantly. 

It's pushing, looking with fear at Vladimir who kicks his stomach. He receives constant kicks, each one stronger than the last. He looks at Boris, smiling with difficulty. 

"Do you want him?." The president is angry, his eyes darken as he lowers his height." Do you want Boris Nikolayevich's dick?"

The hands take his waist, bringing him closer to his crotch, feeling the hard lump pressing down.

"Why don't we just prove you're a bitch," he said, waving his hands as he took off his pants.

He moves, trying to prevent what he knows is inevitable. His movements stop when the warm hand of the white-haired man touches him, caressing his hand with parental love. He holds on to that hand, tears begin to stream out of his eyes when he feels the tip again. 

He feels the pressure, the burning of the last time appears. He could swear she saw blood running down her legs when she went in hard. 

The beautiful landscapes that the sky creates, the beautiful day that seemed with its soft reddish colors become blue, dark, gray.

Heaven was saddened by a suffering soul.

The blows to his bottom mark him, emphasize who he belongs to, and the limb that enters mercilessly knowing of the previous pain does too. Vladimir strikes his body, feeling the weight on his back; the cold hand touches his cheek, forcing him to look at the man resting in front of him, looking at him with pity. 

"Watch him die," he whispers, his most violent attacks." Do you want to see the old man die?"

His cries, his voice no longer has any strength. He stares helplessly at the man who still doesn't look away, just looking at him with sad eyes. 

He tries not to cry, he tries not to feel the pain in his body that goes into him. He must make it end quickly, he must help Boris. He moves his hips, the shame and humiliation marking his movements. The burning starts to burn him inside, burning his heart in only gray ashes that vanish with a puff.

"V-vova." 

What should he say? How can he stop it from happening? The movements stop for a moment, being soft and slow, as if waiting for what he would say. Vladimir's breath hits his cheek, he feels his breath heavy. 

"F-faster."

He was doomed...

Listen to the low, mocking laughter, which enjoys its humiliation. He bites his lips trying to concentrate on the good of the man in front of him, thinking that everything will be all right. His shirt tears, the fabric falls and his teeth close against hear pearl skin, sweat covers his body, the effort to stay conscious and the smell of blood clouds her sense of smell.

The teeth destroy his skin, marking his body with sucking and biting, indicating the property of the man who has lowered himself. He presses the hand of Boris, trying to receive the heat of the man who projects confidence, he feels how the heat wants to leave, he can see how death stalks the man in a dark veil. 

A liquid covers him, the release of vladimir makes him scream, feeling used. When he retires he drags his body to the former president, tears run down his eyes when he looks at him. He tries to grab his phone, the emergency room will be here soon. 

"Do you think you're going to help the man?." said his hands raise his weak body." He's dead."

"No!, Volodya!" he shouted, writhing from his grip. "Please! Let me help him!

His hands are trying to free themselves, his legs are kicking, looking at the distance. The look of yelstin, that look will be in his mind at night, accusing him of his mistakes.

Hands cover his eyes, darkness and fear terrify him by feeling the coldness of the tile, the cold ceramics with freezing bare feet. The small stones, the change of temperature to a colder one disconcerts him and the tiles disappear to feel the dust, the disgusting floor.

A rotten smell makes his nose wrinkle, his hand disappears to look at a dark, dirty place.

"This is your new home." Lips cover his cheek, caressing his waist." Do you want to make a new home?"

He is frightened, his body slowly separates while his feet touch a warm, soft but slightly warm place. Fear covers his body, his back touches the wall and Vladimir approaches him, cornering him. 

The darkness, the smell, the cold that hits his body welcomes him where he will always be, until his body vanishes and his role as a doll is discarded. 

_Doll..._

"Stop acting like a bitch!." he said, pressing his body against the opposite.

"P-please..."

The tears become unstoppable, falling down her cheek as her throat contracts. Pray he don't unleash the man's fury any more than he already have. Try to cover his face, knowing the futility of that movement.

The eyes darken, the thought of something worse shakes him. The hand rises, dangerous. 

He closes his eyes, his lip trembling.

"Stop crying shit!"

Then the headache becomes unbearable. Vladimir slams his head against the wall, repeatedly until he feels a crunch and a hot liquid running down the back of his neck. 

He touches his head, looking at the blood staining his fingers, making his insides sick. His eyes fall, and he closes, letting his legs fall to the ground. He twists his body, shaking as he breathes slowly, trying to calm the tremor in his body that is beginning to disappear.

He cannot look at the president, his mind relaxes and lets everything go dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much if you've read, I'd like to know what you thought <3


	3. Dungeon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god it's been a long time since I updated anything so I'm really sorry for the wait

_Darkness..._

Many individuals have an irrational fear of the dark, of the forbidden place that you never know is in those black tones that make it difficult to see. He, above all, feared something in the dark; that something could be an entity that observes and analyzes him until it can know his weaknesses to attack his mind and body with strength. 

The cold ground, the pain in his body from the dark night, from the days when he did not know what to do. Sometimes, the light comes so dimly that observing something makes his heart beat for a moment of emotion. The iron door that prevents his freedom is so cold, so cold that it hurts and burns his fingers. 

He has been alone these days, food and water have not appeared and his stomach grunts as he demands something to soothe his throat. Screaming is useless, he tried it for only one day and it was a failure that left him without his vocal cords for a few hours. A tremor appears in his body when, without warning, the door opens for a man to pass, so weak and frightened that he screams helplessly at the guards who tie his hands behind his back. The light shines, his eyes try to normalize the room, and the figure of Vladimir Vladimirovich appears.

A twist in his stomach indicates that nothing is right at that moment. The man casts a glance in his direction; dark eyes staring at him, with desolation and sadness in his soul. Dmitry tries to get up, his legs are weak and he staggers to his feet. The president's gaze tells him that he must be at his side. Faithfully, he stands beside him looking at the man who seems to have a sad ending. 

"You know I don't like lies." he raises his hand. The guards lower the man, forcing him to his knees. A pleased smile embraces his cruel mouth." Above all in the world. I like loyalty."

"I'm not loyal to you." the calm tone. Scared eyes don't match the situation." I don't obey your orders like your dogs."

He jumped from his place when the man fell, he looked with fear at the hard hand that rose in the air to fall in the form of a fist against the weak skin. 

"You decide death." Vladimir says, taking the gun from the guards who are watching." I don't care what you say from this moment on."

Was he really going to kill the man? Will the trigger be pulled? His legs are shaking, the fear inside him is deeply rooted in his heart. 

One shot, just one that resonated loudly in his ears. The beeping continues, watching as the man on the ground hugs in fear. 

"You're a faggot, you coward."

He didn't want to look, he could only hear the man's screams that were heartbreaking to the point that he wanted to cry in fear. He looked disgustedly at a piece of nail, bleeding on the part that should have been attached to the skin. He wanted to take it out of his vision, to remove it covertly but it would draw attention to himself. He wanted to vomit, the bile rising from his stomach until it stayed in his throat. How could Vladimir Vladimirovich do these things? Or rather, why did his beloved do this kind of thing in front of him? Was it to mark his authority? To let him know that no one could stand against him and that every act of treason would end up like this?

A knife, so sharp and bright, stands in the darkness that it has so little light at that moment. When did it appear? He couldn't say. He also doesn't know when the light escaped from the room.

_Fire..._

The metal is boiling, the darkness is useless in trying to dull the angry red and orange that adorns the knife. The president approaches, the guards hold the weak man while they tear off his shirt; the hands, the arms are held captive by the two guard dogs. 

Vladimir's eyes look at him for a moment, forcing him to watch the scene in silence. What was once lead and gleaming burns in fury as it buries itself in the delicate skin. The painful cries, tears of the unknown man flow like blood in a river that knows no slowness. Cuts across the body, soft laughter from the president adorns every primitive act to keep fear in that circle. This was, of course, an act to mark authority in each person. No one would dare be against someone who can do this kind of thing.

He feels self-conscious, small before the titan who in his eyes reflects the satisfaction of seeing that person's blood. He shudders, the knife is repeatedly buried in the man's crotch. His hands go discreetly to that place, covering it. 

"This is what you get for betraying the one who feeds you." animal grunts. Vladimir raises the knife at the man who is definitely about to die." My guards will go around your house, I heard you're a father, congratulations."

Like the Christian religion, sinners are hung with nails in their wrists and feet. This time, the great tsar buries the boiling knife in his hands, piercing everything he could attach to an organism. 

Silence, no shouting, no banging. Vladimir rises victorious from his murder, taking the weapon that had been on the ground.

It was a surprise to see the person still conscious, looking directly in one direction.

"You have things... that any man would envy, Vladimir Vladimirovich." the unknown man stood up, blood staining his entire body. Vladimir approached with the gun, pointing at his forehead in the center." And that's not enough for a tyrant like you."

Another shot, the body falls to the ground and the blood spreads through the dirt that is carried by the reddish liquid. He stood still, wanted to scream or move but was frozen in place. A man with a family was killed in a place like this.

What about him? Would he die there too? The thought of seeing the poor man's family being tortured makes his skin pale and sick.

"Do you want to end up like him?" Vladimir murmurs, kicking the man's corpse." Do you want to have a bullet in your skull?"

Dmitry denies, his heart writhes at the man's words. Doesn't he see everything you do for him? Have he ever heard any compliments from him? Of course not, for Vladimir Vladimirovich there are no such words. Everyone, along with him, must agree to his orders, without hesitation or they would be like the corpse in front of him.

Then why is he so afraid?

"I-I." his words are lost. Dmitry tries to walk, slowly retreating from the motionless body." N-no sir."

The walls, the dark room that's dirty with substances he couldn't describe. His back hits the wall, feeling disgusted just by having a closer contact to what he was trying to avoid. Vladimir doesn't seem to care, he has no remorse in those cold, icy, emotionless eyes. The president's body joins his, the warmth is comforting, it helps his heart to believe he is being rescued. 

An idea that only deceives his mind of reality.

"Drop your pants." 

His hands reached into his pants, holding himself in a position to escape. His feet wobble, interlocking in a fall that makes him feel a warm liquid against his pants. Dmitry turned his body, looking at his pants, horrified and ashamed, wet with fear.

"I-I peed." his voice closes, making him look strangled." I-I'm sorry."

That still didn't stop the president from starving the minister into embarrassment.

"I told you." Vladimir emphasizes his words with a footprint against Dmitry's weak stomach, pounding hard." Take off your pants, pet."

"No..." a little anger, from the kind of person who thinks he can escape his torture." I will not!"

He screamed in fear. The trigger is pulled and the bullet rushes through the air, cutting through the concrete on the roof. This time he feels the urine on his pants, coming down quickly and focusing on his bottom where he's sitting. His heart, as fast as a desperate mouse, races for help.

"Do you think I'll mind if I put a bullet in you?" low growls come out of the president's throat, approaching the body as it sits. The tip of the gun is in the thin chest." Remember you're my toy, one of my nice toys that's the last priority."

Those words hurt, like the same bullets the president fired in the moments before. A toy? He already knew that. But why does it hurt so much? Because his heart is torn apart by the cruelty of the mouth that utters those prayers he doesn't want to hear.

"You must understand that there are better, prettier, younger toys." the man's lips reach out to his neck, licking till he spits on the floor." You're disgusting shit, your taste is horrible."

"Shoot." he replied, trying to have a little confidence in his actions. He was playing with sharp daggers that would fall into his skin at any moment.

He closed his eyes. Tears fall to his chin; wiping the dirt from his face. He tensed his body, the sound of the trigger being pulled and waiting for the impact.

The bullet does not hit his heart.

"It won't be long before you're dead, I'd rather the mice kill you." Vladimir pushed him, causing him to fall completely to the ground." And you know what I'm going to do? I'm going to enjoy being the shoulder that comforts your wife."

Clothes tear, creak and break like his heart. Hands caress his body, trying to make some pleasant feeling in it. He looks scared, the idea of dying alone, without anyone knowing about his death makes him cry.

"The hose."

Dmitry trembles, feeling the icy water fall to the ground. Tiny drops fall onto his skin, making them hurt from the freezing temperatures. They hit his skin, clean it and he can't do anything against Vladimir's hands. He shrieked in fear as he felt himself being washed down there.

"Now you're clean." the president looks at the shivering creation, enjoying the purple lips from the cold." Spread your legs."

He refused, remaining static to the tyrant's demands. That doesn't help, that doesn't stop the man, let alone make it not hurt. 

His whole body hurts, tears and is beaten by Vladimir's dick. He feels the blood in the air, the sickness and the nausea in his throat. He tries not to scream, not to feel pain, but it is as difficult as keeping still. The walls seem to get closer, the ceiling falls in and the claustrophobia becomes so intense that he can't feel the air in his lungs. 

"When you die I will make a great feast to celebrate your death." the hand takes the wet hairs, pulling them back. Dmitry suppresses their screams, biting their broken lips." It will be a feast that will last for days."

He accepts everything, wants the pain in his heart to fade away. How does this happen to him? How does he allow this to happen? His hips react, pushing back to take all the impact. 

_**Dark eyes, blank stare.** _

He tries to feel pleasure in those actions, to remember previous moments when Vladimir Vladimirovich was a man of good deeds. 

_A man of good deeds_

_**More like a demon disguised as a man.** _

When did it all end? He can't say, his body trembles in painful discharges into his bones. The cock goes on its bloody way, enjoying the pleasures of the tight walls.

"If you were prettier I'd have mercy on you." the man's voice is low, panting." But you are a filthy being and I despise everything you have."

He cries. The blows and words begin to sink so deep into Dmitry's mind and body; he looks into the darkness, praying to his god that all torture will stop in his weak soul. The dark pinches, bites and bruises adorn what was once soft and cared for skin.

The hot liquid is so painful, it makes him internal wounds burn making that sensation wander through every part of his wrist that he begins to break down on those cold floors.

The sound of the belt, the trousers getting fixed. He looked up at Vladimir, his beloved's eyes having nothing but intimidation in them. He stood still, breathing heavily against the leather of the president's quality shoe.

"Clean my shoes, the bastard bled on my feet." Unrepentant voice, cold look. Vladimir kicks the prime minister's jaw, forcing his sole into his mouth." Lick."

His tongue caresses the dirt, wiping away the blood of the man who was once alive. He gagged, panting as the shoe came out of his mouth. 

His stomach tingles, hunger creeps in. 

"S-sir..." he looked at the floor, ashamed to beg for his needs." I am hungry."

He screams as his hands lift him up, dragging him naked against the wall. 

"We'll take a little walk." the smile widens. The hands carry him walking, his feet complain about the sharp stones.

_**A bullet, frightening screams.** _

He moves his head, shaking off those destructive thoughts. He hopes that Vladimir will take him to a better place. 

How wrong he becomes in time.

A cage, as small as it is dirty, stands before him. The roof rises, inviting him in.

"Put your legs in," he says, pushing the naked body. The president smiles inside, enjoying himself.

It's cold, the metal makes his skin redden to a painful point. His hands rise up on his back being handcuffed; his chest sticks to his knees, feeling the roof of the cage in that small place. 

"W-wait!" his voice hurts, desperate. He wouldn't leave him here, would he?" Don't go!"

"You'll stay here, I'll be back in two hours." he looked at the unruffled guard, snapping his fingers." Watch that he doesn't sleep... don't talk to him, don't let him talk."

His chest felt unbearable pressure, his heart beating painfully in that position. He can't help but sob when the steps of the man he loves disappear.

****

**_Dying look, blindfolds._ **

Those thoughts, that dream you had that fateful day. His limbs were asleep, his joints screaming for comfort at every turn.

He sighed hopefully as he heard the steps back, hunger was consuming him and he wanted to rest.

"I see you're still awake." the strangely gentle voice, the lock on the cage disappears and he can feel his freedom." Are you in pain?" 

He smiled, his beloved was back to the same man he was completely lost from. He stood up, with too much difficulty. A small blush appeared on her cheeks.

"Th-Thank you, I knew you'd come back." he approached the president's body, hugging him tightly. I-I'm very hungry, volodya."

It was all over, his beloved came to his senses and the previous problems were all over. His walk is slow, he doesn't look in the direction they're walking because his gaze is fixed on him ash-blond hair.

"I prepared a delicious meal for you." velvety voice, dancing at the prime minister's audition. Vladimir leads him behind the door, smiling." Enjoy your meal, pet."

They could change the nickname later. His hopeful look is horrified to see that his address was the same place he'd been for so long. The corpse is in front of him, the cold embraces him in welcome. 

"I-I thought." tears come out of his eyes, betrayal hits his chest." I thought that--"

He's thrown to the ground, the smell of the dead man makes him nauseous.

_**Bleeding eyes** _

Vladimir kicks the cage, his animal gaze settles on the sacrificial body. He will destroy every hope in that poor soul.

"Did I say you could talk?" again is the same thing. The voice is no longer soft, it no longer dances in his hearing pleasantly." If you're so hungry, eat what's in front of you."

This was inhumane, completely disgusting. 

"I-it's a corpse." he hesitates, starting to walk away. Dmitry's stomach is complaining, demanding something to fill it up." I-I can't, I can't do this."

Vladimir's body drops to his height, fingers force his jaw open. 

"I don't care what you think." he pushed his head against the body, forcing it into the skin that had been tortured." Eat or someone else will eat your corpse."

He cries silently, his teeth buried in the skin hard enough to start feeling it break under him. In obedience, her teeth manage to remove a large piece of flesh from the poor body. He looked disgusted, his hands shaking as he put the piece in his mouth. The feeling of nausea appears again as he swallows. 

A few minutes pass until he has an answer. Grotesque gagging comes from his throat, the unpleasant taste is all over his mouth. 

He is a person! He was alive! He can feel the liquid rising, burning his throat until it is expelled from his mouth. The vomit spreads through the corpse's stomach making a rotten smell.

"I told you I'd cut out those eyes if you cried." he dangerously drops those words, pulling Dmitry's head forward." Cry again and I'll take them out with my own hands."

Scared, his mouth opens to bite the stomach. He must obey Vladimir's orders, he must make the president happy with his actions. He looked at the knife, taking it between his fingers to make a large incision. The clotted blood spurts out, making a disgusted face. With his teeth he removes a piece, making an effort to swallow the human flesh. The taste, so foul but familiar to an animal, confuses him. He tries to think that he is eating pork, some exotic animal, but knowing that he is also swallowing his vomit, he makes him regurgitate. His hand stops the lumpy liquid coming out, making his eyes close in fear. 

_**Regrettable look, words to the wind.** _

He was relieved to feel the pressure in his head disappear. He turned his gaze, watching Vladimir stand.

"When I return, I want only the bones to be there." the threat is clear in his voice. A pain crosses his chest, making it disappear quickly." your hands over the knife, now."

What if he escapes now?

This could be his chance. He buries the knife, runs and escapes the room to Arkady Dvorkovich's offices to get help. His fingers press on the handle, being reluctant to give it up. But, he softens and the chance to escape is gone when the knife is on the President's property. How can he miss this? Anyone with sound judgment and a normal mentality would be doing the opposite of what he does. 

The difference is that he's in love with the evil man who's looking at him at that moment. He doesn't know what day it is, what environment heaven has to say what happens but he can bet that heaven is ruled by a gray blanket that covers him completely.

"You know, I met a nice toy." Vladimir starts walking to the door, smiling." She's attractive, young and she's a hot woman. She deserves much more than you, she's smart and above all I love to fuck her."

He took some time to think, wanting to throw himself on the floor and cry about the statement. 

"Instead of you, I should kill you for how old and disgusting you are." he hit the floor with his shoe, smiling slightly in a crooked smile." But dolls get broken over time and you're a doll that's out of date."

The door closes, tears come out and her body falls along with the corpse. He cries, beating his legs in a punishment that he himself imposes. He was so foolish, so weak but he loved the man so passionately.

Why was he a toy? His role was always that but now it bothered him, it hurt him and he no longer wanted to be part of that toy circle. The dolls break, fall down and break in half until they leave no trace of the beauty they once had. Maybe that's what happened to him; a beautiful doll that attracted the eye of the right man until it was discarded in the basement and covered with dust.

Except that this doll is willing to wait for its owner until it comes back to life as the main toys.

A pity, its illusions and joys are gone from its body when that door left it in complete darkness. Self-destructive thoughts begin to surface, beautiful memories that make him even more depressed deteriorate the situation.

****

_"Volodya? Can I tell you something?" the young lawyer came out of the man's chest, looking at him._

_"Is something wrong?" Vladimir gathers his eyes, taking the ring that was on his bedside table to put on his finger._

_He breathed, letting go of his feelings that had been held back for so long._

_"I know we only have sex but I want you to know that I love you." Dmitry looks guilty at the wedding ring on the opposite finger, averting his gaze." And even if this is not the right thing to do, I swear I will try to make you happy."_

_That statement was interrupted by Vladimir's lips, inviting him to have another round before going home to his future wife._

And now, being in that place, he thinks that statement is stronger than ever. 

_Vladimir Vladimirovich would be the cause of his death._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to insult someone you can do it by commenting XD thanks to the comments encourage me to continue and


	4. Immaculate Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, I feel so bad for believing that I would update but it hasn't happened and I'm really sorry.

_Today, it is a day where the power of the tyrant intensifies and grows exponentially. Some praise, they cry out in happiness at the sight of pale eyes determined to stare into the camera. It is the day of the end? The end only comes when it has been set by the weak, coming out of the caves in signs of defeat when only death is inevitable and they expect some mercy._

_Life is short? Many have the joy of exclaiming in their youth to make an excuse for such misery and hypocrisy. Life is short only when the soul has been atoned for; if not, there is only the search for atonement in an endless quest to have something that will be denied._

Fingers bleed, chains press; bones creak and tears flow until they dry on dirty cheeks that clean the skin that has been darkened. Dmitry knows the stress positions, when the way you stand can generate even more pain than something physical is terrifying.

Now he is in a stress position, with his arms behind his back until they are stretched enough to give him constant pain from feeling torn. His feet, rising up from the filthy floors that have been infected to death, trying to find something clean, reach the point where they are held on tiptoe. The weight, his whole body being embraced by something so delicate that it begins to break down from the small, affiliated stones that are buried in the skin in wounds that bleed until they make small pools of dark blood that cannot be seen because of the lack of light in a place like that. 

He is hungry, since the last piece of meat came out of the arm of the man who was killed weeks ago. The cold preserves the flesh, leaving it in care that sometimes is checked to see if it is accepted for his body. Nothing remains, only bones that constantly whisper behind the black blanket that adorns his head his fateful end. Death is patient; he sits on the corner to see his life until his last breath stops and takes the soul in agony.

The sound of the door creaking is just as hell imagines, so dreadful that it cannot go unnoticed even if the most delicate hands try to open the hard metal door that prevents their freedom. Dmitry thinks who he is, the smell of soft but exciting perfume reaches his nose until it gets deep enough to make him nauseous. The keys come out of his pockets, quickly looking for the right one to stop the strong grip on his thin wrists that kept him prisoner. He could complain, feel the burning in his body when his whole foot touched the ground after hours. 

He took the bag off, slowly so as not to cause the person in front of him to become angry. Was it the same guard who tried to touch him a week ago? Fear was something that entered his veins, moving in every corner to advance like a virus until only that feeling remained present. Attempts to stop that with pleasant thoughts, empty memories that at some point caused tranquility fail in something useless that will not work.

He looked at the white robe, so pure that it is difficult to concentrate on the thin but old face of the man. He is kind, just as he can remember from his grandfather in his happy and exciting childhood that he comes to miss at times like this. Even so, distrust is present; green eyes are looking at him with pity, as if he saw a wounded puppy from which he cannot recover and just waits for the death of the poor man without pain. 

"Dmitry Anatolievich, I am here to check your body," the white gloves are raised, looking in the bag for a small cream." Please turn around."

No, he didn't want any of that. Is there any difference when everything that follows is the same ending? He looked at the glove, walking away slowly to feel his back touching the cold wall." I-I'm not going to do this, y-you can leave."

The warm hands touch both shoulders, in an attempt to relax the body that was beginning to tremble in a slight panic attack. Dmitry was frightened, his eyes are open wide enough to express all the fear that they tackle the sapphire. 

"You must do this, it is the best thing for you and your health."

Does health matter now that he is there? Will it change his life? Of course not, his hopes that something might happen are fading like ashes after the cremation of his loved one. He sighed, the green eyes do not bother as Vladimir Vladimirovich did with such an imposing and powerful presence that can step on anyone who stands in the way of the detailed, worthy to be royalty.

"W-will my health help me to get out of here alive?" he looked at his dirty feet that were once clean, wrapped in warm socks and soft shoes." I'll get out of here only when a black bag covers my body. 

"Let me give you a dignified death," he took out a bottle of pills, handing it to the man in front of him." They will force you to show yourself if you don't do it on your own...don't make this any harder than it already is."

The shame, the humiliation crosses his face reminding him what a fool he was. He was determined, he has no voice in the order given by the tyrant and only resigns himself to a soft turn to start lowering his dirty pants. His gaze remained in front of him, like the horses that run and do not look back despite seeing the competition that follows him with a quick, bold step waiting to pass the opponent. He is not a horse, not in the least, but when an animal can no longer compete it is slaughtered and that is what is assimilated to him. 

A scream, only one can be heard in the outskirts while being checked. It was something desolate, to hear how a soul was writhing in the fire of pain and terror will be marked for the stoic guards who watch the prisoner who thinks about escaping. The images can be avoided, erased from the mental plane; but the sound of tears heard from the prisoner will remain forever in his memory, in the light of the night when the whole body relaxes to torment life.

**_****_ **

He looked at the pills, grateful for the glass of water that had been given to him. He took the small white circle between his fingers, opening his mouth to pass it between his dry, chapped lips. He felt it on his tongue, drinking the water to swallow with a painful effort as he felt something in his stomach after days. The doctor said it was a quick effect and you can believe it when her eyes slowly close like blinds after a show to end the moment. He did not resist, he can hear whispers and the soft voice of Vladimir behind the door, but he cannot wake up, he cannot prevent his eyes from closing completely to end his torment. 

_**Fire again?** _

_No, not this time. It's black, everything is dark until the designs begin to appear as the light gently hits the details of the burned wood. He came closer, his legs weakened when he recognized the design of the house: it is his house, it is where his little son and his beloved wife live._

_The walls, everything is completely burned; the floor, full of soot, is dirty until his dark shoe cleans it in a footprint. His eyes wander, as if they knew what was there to look at what his heart most feared._

_His child's body is there, with a hole in his head so small that it seems to have given him a quick end instead of a slow agony. The clothes are dirty, torn into small pieces like a doll after being handled by an animal. He collapsed, embracing the burned body that smells like cooked meat that anyone would do in a casual situation. Tears adore his eyes, sobbing when he is stopped by a lonely melody that sounds like distance. A humming, so soft that it seems to delight his ears in some morbid and repulsive way. He cannot turn away his gaze, the face of his melted child is something he cannot take out of his mind even if he tears out his eyes. The hair that was burned, the cheeks that were once soft are now dark and charred to the point where he can see his child's bones._

_Slow steps, a melody that increases its rhythm but is more and more melancholic of a sad and dark piano that releases the most nostalgic sounds that can exist. He managed to see some shoes, elegant in every way despite being in a scene full of destruction. The feet dance slowly, close to him as if they were a mockery and finally he raises his eyes to open his mouth in a sob._

_Vladimir is drenched in blood, quietly humming a soft song in a waltz. He carries his wife as his companion, looking at the empty, lifeless eyes that only remain at one fixed point. The clothes suffered the same condition but the body is different, it is injured in so many parts that if it were not the place he could not identify her as his wife._

_"P-please," he pleaded. The feet are in the air and rubbing on the ground until the blood on the woman begins to run down to the tips of her toes." S-stop."_

_He is ignored, the satisfied smile on his pale face makes him sick and he begins to cry uncontrollably. It cannot be, his wife cannot be dead. Could he have done something to stop this? Could this have been avoided? He felt guilty, closing his eyes as he held his son's body tightly. He trembled, screaming as loudly as he could._

_"Volodya!"_

Sweat covers his dirty body, quickly jumping from his precarious makeshift bed. A dream? It was so real to her eyes that the fear is so strong, so vivid?

"It's a shame I can't fuck you now," the icy voice makes him move, looking at the pale eyes that possess no emotion but coldness." I guess I will have to have fun with kabaeva while you are here dying."

A feeling invades him, hitting his being that has repercussions as if it were a big concert that is heard by millions of people everywhere. Is it anger? This is what it feels like to be angry at the person who has caused all the suffering that has led you to what you are? Maybe it's not anger, he can just feel a strong pain in his chest, tingling in his heart to generate a tightness in his throat that ends up clenching his fists until it become a dirty white.

His legs are shaking, trying to pull themselves together to face the look that seems to be powerful. 

"You could let me go. Kabaeva is your new break-up toy, isn't it?" hsi voice came out with complaints, sighing calmly as she saw the frozen features shrink and frown.

The frozen eyes, as serene as the sea but possessing such abysmal depths that just venturing into those clear waters would be a fatal mistake. The sea is agitated, dancing with fury in a place so small that seemingly is discharged in that so great man that raises his fist, the same fist that touched the book so pure, so full of hopes while he was lying to a people that expected freedom but was locked in an illusion of fatherland and greatness.

The cheek touches the cold wall, feeling the burn and pain of the blow to his face. He touched the skin, moving slowly to recover from the blow. 

Vladimir extended his hand, taking the rough and dirty hair. The face was hopeless, the sapphires staring in surprise at the speed of action. He put his lips to his ear, whispering his words serenely." Why let you go when I can have you here? This resembles your disgusting life and you are going to stay until I say it was enough."

He took a breath when he was released, not taking the liberty of weakening before the man. Dmitry seems to be smiling, it's something so empty that the corners rise without grace in the thin features." Someone like me doesn't stand a chance if he doesn't go to the place of the problem."

The hands come together in one blow, drawing attention to themselves. The expression of anger on the president's face is unusual and pierces his bones like an electric current that makes him uncomfortable. 

"Today it is time for you to eat," the steps in the distance make his eyes wander in the distance until he reaches the door, looking at the small package that the guard holds in his arms until he hands it over to him. 

He listens to the little murmurs, pulling out the blanket that covered the little thing that was writhing. He can feel his mouth open, looking at the innocent face that smiles at him. No, he cannot be forced into that.

"Come on, revitalize your dirty soul." he ordered, pointing to the living package with a sly, malevolent smile. White teeth are like a mockery." It wasn't so hard to find our brave friend's family, the woman was quite useless and cared more about her baby than herself."

He collapsed, looking at the child's delicate and soft features. The blue eyes, so similar to his son's and with the dark locks that were resting quietly on his face, reminded him of his Ilyushka.

He embraced him, as tightly as he could to protect him in his arms. He sobbed, feeling his eyes fill with tears as he watched the little hands touch his face, running their tiny fingers up his nose; touching his cheeks to his lips. Laughter is soft, delicate and murmurs in a prayer to the man in front of him.

"Please don't make me, don't do this." he said, stroking his head to begin to soothe the baby in his arms.

Something changes, the atmosphere becomes tense and he can look at his eyebrows furrowing in anger.

He held the body tightly against his slimmed-down chest. The little breath was the same as his, so frightened and helpless. His eyes pleaded before the man, knowing that anger overflows from the movements of a caged animal. 

He could not contain his crying, the baby was snatched from his embrace and he could hear him crying with painful force. He feels something pounding in his heart, imagining his child in his evil arms. 

The hands ignore the infant's frightened cries, leaving him on the floor

"This is all your fault, live with it." 

He watches the dirty, impure sole rise into the air to land on the little body. Vladimir is stepping on the little body in a deadly way.

He tries to stop him, wanting to push him with his weak arms, but is held back with stronger pushes that lead him to fall. He holds one leg, embracing him while he cries out to beg the man; he observes how the so little head is stepped on, wanting to stop the horrible torture. The baby's cries are horrible, making his heart sink even more. 

"Please! Stop!" the angry look collides with his soul, pushing him with a kick that makes him scream when it hits his delicate stomach.

His legs fall, the wounds on his skin burn like a memory but do not compare to what he sees. The eyes of a slave cry, overflowing like a river without stopping. A few drops of blood hit his face, feeling sick to the point of vomiting.

Vladimir's hands took the body, with a strange affection to bring him closer to the wall. A dull sound, as if a sack were thrown away; the body, as small as a baby doll, is thrown against the wall so many times that little bones are broken and heard in an audible and frightening way. The baby no longer cries, life came out of that body from the first steps but the tyrant does not stop, making what cries for milk now a bag of blood with broken bones.

"Stop! Volodya!" he shouted, crying heartbrokenly as the package was thrown to the ground." W-why are you doing this?"

"It's a pity you waste a gift like this, the dogs will put it to good use, or anyone's pigs." His shoe is full of blood, looking at him with disgust as if it were mud that managed to step on his immaculate foot." Use your tongue for something useful, clean it up and then they will give you a bath, they will put make-up on you so you can work later". 

The burlesque way in which the shoe wiggles makes him contain a groan. His tongue came out, slowly licking the shoe as he squeezed the cloth pants with his weak fingers. He managed to choke as he was forced to go deeper, putting his whole mouth into the sole as far as he could. It was humiliating, licking the lowest part of the man where he stepped on everyone under his feet. 

**_It's not anger, it's disappointment..._ **

_******** _

The silence of his office, it was so unusual to feel something comfortable and warm that he allowed himself to sink into his seat while looking up. This was so unfair, but is there justice? If something like that existed he would already be in his freedom, playing with his son; perhaps and only perhaps, something like justice could exist, only for him it has been scarce and he was left aside to be punished by that man. He committed one of the great sins which was in believing that he could change something in the frozen eyes, in the seas where he was drowned and could not escape. 

He covered his face with his hands; he humbled himself enough that he does not feel anything in his heart now. It is more a sensation of emptiness, one from which he cannot get out but in which his chest possesses a great pain when he breathes more and more strongly, which impedes him to breathe properly. 

The sound of the handle takes him out of his little dream. The door opens, removing his hands quickly as he looks at the familiar but worried faces. He takes out some of the papers, tidying them up in an attempt to look busy.

"Dmitry Anatolievich, we haven't seen you in months." Arkady left the pile of documents on the desk, slowly approaching. His stomach gives him a bad sign with its watery sapphire eyes." Where have you been?"

He tried to give them a smile, running his index finger over the painted circles that seemed to cover them. 

"I've been working from home, my wife thinks it's the best thing for our son," a twitch hits his smile, bringing it down in a sad expression quickly.

Vladislav seems to be looking into the distance, he is a curious and rather strange man who has aroused his curiosity on more than one occasion. 

"You haven't been home, have you?"

The voice is soft, smiling guilty when he sees Arkady's hand rise to touch his wrist that rested on his wrist until he removed the makeup and saw the white and purple skin. It is warm, the heat emanating from the hand is soft; it caresses his skin in a motherly way, as if he were the child that has been beaten and tries to relieve the pain with that little cure.

"Well, Vladislav is a very intelligent man," tears filled his eyes, raising his arms to feel more of the heat emanating from Arkady's body. The memory in his mind made him cry even more, squeezing the clothes in which his fingers clung.

He is received with a strong hug, sobbing into Arkady's chest. The smell is relaxing, soothing his body in small tremors when he wipes his eyes on the wet cloth. But even if he does not want to, he must answer the questions that await resolution in the young politician's mind.

"Tell me what happened to you? Do you need me to call the police?"

He tried to make a smile, looking at the almond shaped eyes full of hope to be the best. That reminds him of when a young lawyer would make his way through the courts, through the schools, and a teacher would come out ready to give up his knowledge." We cannot arrest the leader of our country."

"V-Vladimir Vladimirovich? He did this to you?" the voice is so worried, so maternal that it reminds him that this young man is a father just like him." What do you need? We are going to help you."

_Oh, even if he could get out of that cage his soul would be healed?_

He closed his eyes, sticking to the heat while his glance was focused on the dark but mysterious orbs of Vladislav Yurievich; certainly he is such a strange man that is impossible to deceive.

He squeezed weakly between his fingers the fabric of the white shirt, his palms shaking with the force he exerts and his white knuckles demanding that he stop doing that." I can't fool the cardinal, can I?"

A sarcastic smile comes out on his thin lips, he is as if Vladimir Vladimirovich were himself with dark hair and perhaps a little more humanity." I'm not an idiot, don't you think I haven't heard what the walls are saying? Remember, Dmitry Anatolievich...here, there are no secrets."

He allowed himself to rest, breathing more and more slowly as the heat began to appear in his body in a relaxing way. 

But not everything beautiful lasts, right?

The cold reappears, looking at the terrified eyes that danced on the promising young man of a good life. He looked in the direction, trembling when he saw the pale blues that were so close to him that he did not know at what moment they had appeared.

He is taken by the arm, rising with the force that makes hin complain immediately. Even if he tries to struggle, it would calm the man's blood lust? No, Vladimir Vladimirovich is not a merciful god. 

" what did I say?" The soft voice is so dangerous, it flutters in his ear even when he falls to the ground. He can hear the belt, looking with supplication at the man." Don't be a bitch to some people, I'd better let everyone take a turn and start fucking you." 

He screamed, feeling the footprint that hit his stomach as he squirmed. He looked at the two men standing near them, starting to generate tears in his eyes as the leather hit his delicate skin. The pain is so strong, it burns completely and the kicks in his ribs take his breath away. 

He can feel everything, as each muscle contracts at the blow and the blood is concentrated in its place that cannot come out. His body is already purple, in many places that become more sensitive to contact. Vladimir knows this; his satisfied eyes when he hears his cries make his heart twist as much as he does now. 

"Let him go! Leave him alone!"

He looked at Arkady, the young man is hugged from behind to be stopped. The dark eyes are with pity, Vladislav Yurievich is under his inexpressive mask keeping the boy prisoner. 

"Don't do something stupid that Dmitry Anatolievich may regret, you can't do anything and we must only wait until at some point he gets tired," the words are like a tombstone, looking imposingly at the injustice that was presented to the two men. 

_At some point he must get tired._

His eyes were swollen, he looked carefully even though the curtain that covered him was a wall of moisture that thickened and came down on his cheeks. He could hear the belt returning to the Tsar's pants, closing the punishment he imposed on the traitor who defied sacred authority. 

" Cry again and you know what will happen" the tone of danger is imminent, Dmitry cannot help but close his eyes and cover his gaze when the warning is so clear that he fears for his life.

He waited a moment, imagining himself in his room reading his favorite book while the comfort of his bed welcomed him. He jumped up, screaming as he felt the warm hands on his wrist causing him unbearable pain. 

The two almonds are worried, looking straight into the sapphire eyes that were reddening with time" Don't worry, it never hits my face too hard or becomes more difficult to make up".

Anger, that can lead people to do horrible things, but what happens when the helplessness is there? He knows, he looks carefully at the shaking hands on either side of Arkady's small, youthful body. The poor boy should not have seen that, he feels so guilty that he manages to touch his shoulder but is pushed away so strongly that he recoils in surprise.

" No! it is not normal!" he was helped to his feet, holding himself in the tall body of the impassive cardinal." You think he's doing this to you is normal? Well, it is not! You must get out of this! You must go to the hospital!"

He threw himself, as if he were a doll, as he serenely embraced the angry boy." just... can you protect my family? They are the only ones I care about, and Vladimir Vladimirovich will go after them, please."

Even if he wanted to help the boy in front of him, he knows he cannot when he looks at the door that opens. His time has come, hasn't it? He closed his eye, as if he knew what would happen when he felt the hands of others separating him from Arkady. 

He began to scream, hoping to be freed from the hands that squeeze into his arms and make him scream. He is weak, unable to fight against strong men who have been trained as obedient dogs that attack when necessary. He is thrown to the ground, seeing how depraved looks make him start begging.

"No please, p-please!"

Will he be raped? They are a strong group and what can he do? No one will come to his aid. That terrifies him, makes him tremble while he waits for everything to be over as quickly as possible. 

But the men do nothing, they stand until he hears the slow steps and the blond hair is on top of him. Hands are around his neck, squeezing his throat with both thumbs which stops any air circulation that might have reached his lungs.

He is choking, so he is going to end up? Looking into the blue eyes that make him lose himself in the sea? He opens his mouth, yet no sound comes out even if he complains and begins to feel the despair of not being able to get the air he needs. 

There is a mocking look, teeth that show and a voice that approaches him until it whispers in an evil way.

"Congratulations, your child is having a birthday. What gift would you like? To see that his house is on fire or that there was a terrible accident while he was innocently traveling to school?

_His child._

_His happiness._

_His reason for living._

He felt everything fade away, beginning to feel his consciousness go as his eyes closed. He managed to whisper, hoping that the man would take pity on him.

"Don't kill him, I beg you...j-just let me see him one last time, that's a-all I ask."

He could not say when his eyes closed and opened again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if you read this, but I really feel like you're waiting almost two months to read a new chapter.   
> I've finished my homework, which is good so I can write more, and now I'm saying I'll be able to do something more often and thanks you, really :D

**Author's Note:**

> Deam, second long fic, this won't be good


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